Aivans of the desert

      
                (poem)
                Dedicated to Курманжан Датка (1811 -
                February 1, 1907), Colonel of the Russian   
                Imperial Army (1876)
                1.
Gyurza crawled lazily onto the dune.
The body is fluid, the sand is free-flowing.
Gyurza is yellow. Yellow with ebb
Peaks of red sand dunes.
The snake is like clay. Land - by height -
All, as if in shreds of camel skins.
Everywhere the essence is one step.
But her gait is terrible in the dunes.
A little wind and - a bush of dry ferulla
Failed, twitching, galloped.
But - like dead saxauls
From the sun beating on the spot.
The country is like this: dust,
Dromedaries.
And do not imagine that to the sand
Living life without shame, without measure
Praocean was splashing around here!
Who will touch the gyurza in the desert today?
Herds left the poor pastures.
On the trail - wolves. Gloom all around.
Who prayed, and I sobbed.
                2.
Fear, you desert! It's thin in the dunes,
Ringing from the wind on the eve of winters,
A blade of grass sings so lonely
And monotonously like a muezzin.
Here, in the vague sounds, clarity came:
In them the cranes shout like silver
And - talkative leaves idleness,
And the fearful speech of the brook.
Kurai, does the angelica sing, arundo?
The desert sings, and the voice is mine!
I'm here because it's hard at home
Find joy, find peace.
When I reached the limit in years,
Where hopelessness takes its toll
I realized: what is the matter for me
And - that the desert is being!
No one ever has power over her.
Its spring is here, its own suffering ...
Are you coming? Follow the desire for happiness!
There is always water behind the mirages.
             3.
Where there is joy in rustling gardens,
Shade and coolness - a shelter for roe deer?
Where is the fence from the flying sands?
Protection, where, from sandstorms?
Fruit pantry and base,
Where, human life?
There are no trees here. And what's wrong with that ?!
This is not my forest land.
Here you will not see the herbs themselves
They ascended, made their way and went into growth.
Here every bush is grown by hands,
And the work of people here, alas, is not easy.
The vanity of effort is evident in the sands
Unbroken thread ...
By the water of the rivers of icy Siberia
The desert, no, do not make you drunk!
And caravans on their way
They walk stubbornly to the barking of dogs.
So is the desert - well, touchy -
Water, will not carry in any way.
I am friendly, calm, cheerful,
Healthy, not stupid, not gloomy, not angry.
My idea: our world has become small,
And there are not many Russian villages in it!
                4.
Behind the Volga, next to, beyond the white stretch -
Warm green, woody paradise.
Over Stenki Razin, that cliff
The victorious rook grave hung.
There are huts - just to get away from the shame!
Not conjugation of colonnades,
Not white marble of antique temples ...
But how glad I am, to death!
The Greek's hut is a poem in stone:
Strict, pompous, cold.
A house in the dunes is an acrostic in adobe,
Where there is so much sense that there is no bottom.
The sign of the East is the tyranny of colors
Either bright yellow, now gold,
The fog of luxurious sleepy tales
Unrecognizably young.
But I dread them. My color is honey.
He is subtle, gentle. What the heck?!
I would use a wooden village
Learn the ditty fractional mode.
Before my eyes the color of wine berries
From the dazzling red dunes
I would say: as from the red banners.
But where is that holiday? .. Around June.
Fire red, lemon bright
My eyes are filled with sand.
The desert loves to embrace hot ...
One. Until it crunches. I said so.
            five.
... Gyurza crawled lazily onto the dune.
The bite is instant, incurable.
But if you started to go - happily!
There is no reason for the brave to fear.
Well, what a parable! For a long time over forty,
Maybe forty-five.
Soon the darkness of the desert will pass.
So, well, you can’t speak ”
You can't take off your shoes at least once in a hundred years,
Free to sit down at a jug of wine
To touch the beloved woman,
Isn't it a blockade or a war?
Be patient, be content with little, be afraid
Don't drink, don't laugh and don't love.
After all, evil is not a property of mountains and desert
And a product of spiritual darkness!
It's impossible to believe in love here
Native nature - shish everywhere ...
Well, get out of the way, alien animals!
What you don’t believe in, you don’t value.
The desert is what is empty!
The vastness impudently rushes through the eyes.
In one huge crimson lump,
The desert has crept.
A thunderstorm is coming!
                *****